30
DANTE
My mother invited me to lunch on Sunday and told me Augusto would be there too.
“I think you need to sit down at the same table,” she said.
I was in the office late Friday afternoon. I had just finished answering the team’s questions about two old approvals. My brother’s name appeared on both, next to mine.
“I’m not going to that lunch.”
“Dante.”
“I can see you another day. I’m not going to pretend we’re sorting this out between an appetizer and dessert.”
She was silent for a few seconds.
“You’re brothers.”
“I know.”
It was precisely because I knew this that every conversation seemed to require a different kind of strength.
If Augusto were just someone I worked with, there would be procedures, paperwork, and a distance that already existed.
He’d known my life before I even knew how to write my name.
He’d been by my side through real losses.
I couldn’t erase those things to make the present simpler.
I couldn’t use them to ignore the present, either.
We agreed that I’d stop by her house on Wednesday—no family lunch and no Augusto. Leda agreed, though reluctantly.
After the call, I opened the message my brother had sent earlier. He asked if I was still planning the short trip we used to take together once a year—work in the morning, followed by two days away from the routine. That year, I hadn’t confirmed yet.
I replied that I wouldn’t be going.
He called right away.
I let it ring until I could answer without raising my voice.
“Are you going to let this affect everything?” he asked.
“I’m not going to travel with you while we’re in this situation.”
“What situation? You’ve already made up your mind before the review is even over.”
I looked at the documents on the table.
“You admitted that you chose not to show me the receipt. I don’t need to wait for another report to know how this affects my trust in you.”
Augusto let out a sharp breath.
“I’m not going to apologize for trying to protect you.”
I closed my eyes for a second.
“Then we have nothing to discuss about the trip.”
He fell silent.
“When you need me, remember that.”
The threat was familiar enough to have worked in the past. Not because I believed I’d be backed into a corner, but because I didn’t want to be the one to turn a bond into a demand.
“Business matters will continue to be handled through official channels,” I replied. “Good night, Augusto.”
I hung up.
I was slow to put the phone away. Distance didn’t sound like a slamming door. It sounded like a canceled trip and a voice I didn’t want to hear again that night.
***
On Wednesday, my mother greeted me in the living room.
Coffee was ready, and there were two seats at the small table. She was dressed up as if we were going out, even though she’d said she’d be spending the day at home. I recognized that effort: when she couldn’t organize people, she organized what she wore and what she offered them.
I accepted the coffee.
Leda waited for me to sit down before asking:
“Do you think he did it all on purpose?”
I set the cup on the saucer.
“I know he chose to show me one part and hide another. He admitted that. The rest is still being investigated.”
“Maybe he was worried.”
“Mom.”
She lowered her eyes.
I didn’t want to have the argument with Augusto again in another voice. I needed her to understand at least where I stood, without handing her Marina’s story or confidential documents to win the argument.
“Being worried doesn’t make the omission acceptable. And he tried to settle the harm he did Cecília in private before properly answering for it.”
“Does she want to make this public?”
“She wants to decide how to set the record straight about what happened to her. That’s different from you or me choosing what would be most comfortable for the family.”
My mother ran her finger along the handle of her cup.
“I just wanted to spare everyone more pain.”
I looked at her for a few seconds.
“Cecília was suffering while everyone thought it was all settled.”
Leda leaned back, and I saw her eyes well up before she turned her face away.
I wanted to soften what I’d said. She was my mother. She was crying in front of me, and part of me still believed it was my job to make it stop.
I waited.
“I remember her saying she was pregnant,” she said.
The sound of those words changed the room.
“I know you do.”
“I kept waiting for someone…” She stopped. “I don’t know. I thought you’d calm down, that someone would take the two of you somewhere else, that there would be a chance to talk later.”
“I didn’t calm down.”
“No.”
Leda wiped the corner of her eye with her finger.
“I could have gone over to her.”
I didn’t answer for my mother.
She continued:
“I saw Dalva holding her arm. I thought about getting up. But I stayed seated.”
For the first time in that conversation, Leda didn’t talk about what others should do to improve the present. She spoke about herself.
“You can’t change that,” I said. “But you can stop asking Cecília to make what comes after it easier.”
My mother nodded slowly.
We sat in silence while the coffee grew cold.
“I’d like to apologize to her,” she said at last.
“I can ask her if she’s willing to talk. She decides.”
“I don’t want it to seem like a condition for seeing Bento.”
“Then don’t mix the two issues.”
She agreed.
My mother walked me to the door and touched my face. The gesture moved me despite the difficult conversation. I still didn’t know when I’d be back for lunch.
I kissed her forehead.
Loving her didn’t have to mean letting her make decisions for me.
***
On my way back, I stopped by the office to pick up a document. Augusto had already left.
There was a folder on my desk that the team had sent. I opened it, reviewed the questions, and jotted down what I needed to find. The review was still underway, with people working on facts that my family preferred to discuss as a matter of loyalty.
Before leaving, I wrote to Cecília about my mother’s request. I told her there was no rush and that I hadn’t made any arrangements on her behalf.
She replied later.
“I don’t want to right now. Maybe later. Thanks for asking.”
I just let Leda know that Cecília didn’t want to talk at that moment. My mother wrote that she understood. I didn’t know if she fully understood. That was the answer she’d given, and I let her take responsibility for it.
On Saturday, I’d see Bento again.
The prospect of that visit came in the middle of a difficult week without fixing the week. I was glad to notice that. My son didn’t need to be where I hid everything I couldn’t bear about the adults.
I closed the folder and turned off my office light.